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So a few entries ago (look in the archive for the title “Confession Session #10: The Invisible World), I wanted to make a reference to a dream I had months, possibly years ago. It occurred to me then that I had not yet shared with you this marvellous dream. I shall do so today!

My dreams often comply with something many of you may be familiar with. It’s a law dubbed “Dream Logic” and it basically means that something completely bizarre can happen in a dream and the dream world would pass it off as completely normal. It also excuses the otherwise illogical chain of events, like how you can be in Canada at one point and then take a road trip to end up in ancient Italy.

When I awoke from this dream in particular (will henceforth referred to as The Three Days of Flight dream), I was baffled. At the time, I used my phone as an alarm clock so it was always near me when I slept. My phone, as old and battered as it might appear, is capable of storing notes. In a note file was where I jotted down this dream.

I feel like dreams are a gateway from one dimension to another, be it in the same reality or a different reality. I’m not surprised that you’ve had psychic dreams before. I think everyone can peer into the future. I, too, used to be a great self-proclaimed clairvoyant. *sits up proudly* But, see, the problem with me is that I have an ever-worsening memory impairment.

Everyone can dream, but only a few are fortunate enough to remember. That is what I have come to believe.

During the time I had The Three Days of Flight dream, my memory was pretty awesome. It goes to show how very old this dream is. Once upon a time, dear readers, I had the memory of a computer. With time, my brain invited viruses with open arms and now I’m this. *gestures hand to “voila” myself*

My dreams typically last around five minutes before it starts to fade. After one piece of the dream disappears, it creates a black hole that engulfs the rest of the dream. In other words, once it starts to go, it goes speedily.

So, you see, I had a short period of time to jot down The Three Days of Flight dream before it vanished completely. My jots are, thus, extremely unorganized and confusing. I’ll be retelling The Three Days of Flight to you in this entry, but my words will be based off of the rushed note on my phone. Please brace yourselves for the possibility of getting lost.

Now, let’s get started, shall we?

Is it unsafe to reveal one’s whereabouts online? I have told the internet where I lived before. Although I’m still in one piece now, I’m not going to be an idiot. I do, however, need to give an approximate location of where I am in order to convey the full absurdity of The Three Days of Flight dream, and yes, it is very absurd.

I live in Alberta. For those of you who aren’t too keen on provinces, Alberta exists on the western side of Canada. We’re (sounds funny including myself as part of a landmass) the second leftmost province and we specialize in the oil and gas industry. Some would say we’re a rich province, but we experience economic fluctuations just as much as the next province... probably.

It was here in Alberta where my dream started.

I was in a school gym, sitting on the wall bleachers which were stretched out to accommodate the maximum amount of people. At the time I dreamt this dream, I wasn’t sure which school this opening scene took place in. However, after attending high school for a while, it seems oddly obvious to me that the school gym in the dream was indeed my current high school gymnasium.

I used to frequent my high school long before I became a student here. With three older siblings, for years I oft visited the high school building. It’s no wonder the layout of the gym (which branches off from the front foyer) is embedded in my subconscious mind.

To my left was a choir, all dressed in black. I’m in my high school choir now. Our uniforms haven’t been altered for years. We recently had our supply of uniforms demolished by a flood, but we ordered new ones. The new uniforms are the exact same model so they wouldn’t stand out; a black velvet shirt and a black skirt for girls; for the guys, a typical black suit. We wear now the same attire the choir in my dream wore. Coincidence? Probably not.

He was right beside (or should I say left beside me? Hahahaha, oh, how punny). Who is he, you might wonder? Well, following the jot notes on my phone, I can’t tell you yet.

Situated at the center of the gym was a projector screen and on it displayed some sort of Korean drama. It was a series I didn’t recognize.

At the time of this dream, I was kind of into Kdramas. The phase has long since died, but I won’t deny I was once of fan of it. I’m more into Japanese media now.

One thing was odd about the drama, though. It lacked a soundtrack. I do believe it had audio, but it was plain and dull. The choir beside me provided the music. Weird, right? Dream logic, I tell you.

Either the drama episode ended or the whole drama ended. I complimented it, saying, “That was a pretty good drama” or something along those lines. To be honest, I can’t remember the drama at all. I bet you I was completely uninterested in it while watching it in the dream.

The guy beside me interjected, informing me that it was not a drama but a manhwa. For those of you who aren’t too familiar with phoneticized foreign languages, manhwa is term for a Korean manga (and manga are basically Japanese black-and-white comic books). In my dream, it struck me as completely bizarre how this guy was calling what was evidently a drama a manhwa instead.

It was even stranger that this stranger (ha!) was talking to me. Because of this little incident, I started calling him Manhwa. Perhaps that was his name, because in the dream, it flowed naturally and fit him quite well.

He attended Mount Royal. What’s weird is that I didn’t know what Mount Royal was in my dream. Now, months or possibly years later, I know Mount Royal is either a college or a university near me. It was a college once upon a time, but I heard they changed to a university or something.

Manhwa, being the choir, also sings well. He was much taller than me in the dream, with paler skin, too. He was Asian as well and, keeping his natural hair colour, had incredibly dark hair.

By dream logic, I learned how to drive. I got my license and everything. I even had a car I could use freely. In reality, I haven’t even thought about driving or owning a car. Insurance rates are too high nowadays and I wouldn’t dare pose another financial burden on my parents. See, I already attend school and partake in piano lessons. How could I ask them to afford more?

In my dream, though, I could drive and I had a car, so... yeah. *shrugs shoulders*

With this new ability and my car, I often visited Manhwa. He lived in a condominium, occupying a room on one of the higher levels. He had a balcony extending from his room where he would usually stand and greet me from his high altitude. I was never invited into his home as far as I can remember, but that didn’t stop us from conversing. We would project our voices, him talking down and me talking up. This happened several times.

Although I never experienced it with him, when the day begins to turn to dusk, he would stare out from his balcony and watch the array of colours wash down in the horizon. How did I know? Dream logic. I get a kind of omniscient perspective in my dream. Also, since my room in reality is on the upper level of my house, I, too, watch the colours of dusk seep down, like an edited film of chromatography.

Also, I didn’t experience several days in the dream where I visited Manhwa. It sort of came to me like background knowledge so that my dream could skip ahead. Of all things, I only knew that Manhwa and I met regularly at his condominium. This sole interaction stood as evident of our evolving familiarity. We shared something.

One day, still in the dream world, I went on a road trip with my dad and my uncle.

A few years ago, I took a road trip to the US with my dad and my youngest-but-still-older-than-me brother. We drove nine to twelve hours on the road each day for three days. At the end of those three days, I met up with my mother, my sister and my oldest brother who took a plane there prior. I couldn’t plane with them because I had inexcusable, nonpostponable finals. I don’t remember when the Three Days of Flight dream took place, but it could very well have taken inspiration from this summer trip.

In the dream, my dad was in the driver’s seat, driving (of course), and my uncle was sitting in the passenger’s seat. I was in the middle row, leaning on the rightmost door and staring out the window.

There was an eagle/hawk thing that kept trying to invade our car, bashing itself repeatedly against the windows. This posed a problem as my dad was, by dream logic, ornithophobic. In a stroke of bad luck, the bird managed to get in the car. Indeed, be it an eagle or a hawk, it was a large bird. When it entered under the roof of our car, it turned out to be a chocobo of some sort.

As a kid, I never had devices to play games on. My two brothers did, and sometimes they would let me play or watch them play. Surely, you’ve heard of the Nintendo Game Boy Advance? That was what my two brothers owned, one each, in red and in blue. My oldest brother was a huge fan of Final Fantasy, and he sometimes let me play a battle or two. I remember how the games used to have a mode where you could listen to the game soundtrack and my favourite song was the chocobo theme.

The natural colour of the chocobo is yellow, my favourite colour. The colour in addition to the song that accompanied it, ‘twas no wonder I like chocobos.

Regardless of how adorable it was, my dad feared it horribly.

I petted it and indulged in its soft fur. Why did the chocobo have fur and not feathers? Dream logic. According to my phone notes, “I spoke to it and made it my friend.”

For my dad’s sake, it was released from the car. The chocobo tried to fly beside our car. I mean, the chocobo and I were friends. Why wouldn’t it want to be with me, right?

Hm... But wait a minute, don’t chocobos run? They’re like ostriches, flightless but great runners.

Since seeing a chocobo at all was a rare sight, I attempted to capture the moment with a camera. Before I could, the chocobo slowly receded out of sight. Pity the poor thing couldn’t keep up with the horsepower of the car.

The dream then skips to Italy. Yes, we took a road trip to Italy. I haven’t a clue how we got past the ocean with a car, but, you know, dream logic.

We stayed in a magnificent castle of some sort. The walls were red, perhaps, with a series of intricate gold patterns scrawled all over it. It was mostly empty in the sense that when you enter, you are welcomed with the vast space of a central room. It was more of an enlarged foyer than a room. The ceiling stretched up high, possibly three or four floors uninterrupted, and the space was wide and long. The base shape was either elliptical or rectangular, with tall walls extending to match up with the ceiling. Along the walls, one could see a pathway leading to all the room doors, and a solid short wall separated the edge of the pathway to the open vastness of the enlarged foyer.

On the top floor, behind the massive double doors at one of the corners, Manhwa resided. I chatted with him for some time. It was nice in the peaceful atmosphere of this Italian city.

Eventually, I was ordered to go outside. I cut a piece of paper into a pair of wings and prepared for flight.

As a kid from a poor family, paper was one of my best friends. I was a very artsy kid. Due to financial strains, I couldn’t pursue visual arts. Still, my mediums stayed close to me in my heart. Paper, Laurentian pencil crayons, RoseArt wax crayons, all sorts of nurturing art supplies. At least the paper aspect of my artsy side made it to the Three Days of Flight dream.

But it was not just my dad, my uncle, Manhwa, and me in Italy, as I’ve come to learn when stepping outside. A few of my classmates were present, too. Just outside the castle, these classmates were foolishly playing a game of catch with a ceramic plate. It dropped and shattered, the sound disturbing the peaceful city. We, my classmates and I, were rallied up and scolded. The adults, just some anonymous grownups, confiscated the plates. Lucky for me, I was spared any punishment as I was not yet playing with them. I assure you, though, given the time to make a decision, I would never have played with them. Throwing fragile china is just brewing trouble.

My math teacher (who exists in reality by the name of Ms. Lloyd) walked up to me, angry that I could not bail my “friends.” See, at my old school, friendship was common and friends stuck up for each other. I was never blessed with a totally united class and couples were constantly stirring up drama, but we all knew each other. We knew each other really well, actually. I’m clueless why we couldn’t all get along. In my dream, apparently we were all supposed to get along. When people get along, they become friends and friends stick up for each other. I didn’t advocate the innocence of my classmates because, simply, they were guilty.

I told Ms. Lloyd about my paper wings. I can’t remember how she reacted, if such a concept was normal in the dream world or if I wasn’t the only person with paper wings. My phone just says, “I told her about the paper wings.”

Shortly after my conversation with Ms. Lloyd, a gentle wind swept through the streets. I held my paper wings along with a box I forgot the significance of.

... But I do remember the box. In my dreams, events don’t necessarily have to happen for a history to exist. In this dream, although I have no recollection of it, this box was very important to me. I had it everywhere, even though I don’t remember. I know it doesn’t make sense. It’s another instance of dream logic.

It was a little brown box. I don’t recall if it was cardboard or if it was wooden. It was small, very small. I’d say it’s around the size of my palm. The box was never opened so I don’t know what was inside; maybe my hopes and desires, maybe an endless emptiness. Who knows at this point, eh?

My paper wings acted as the gateway from human walking to a fantastical flight. I caught the wind and soared through it, like the eagle/hawk/chocobo thing did earlier. I mimicked its movement to the best of my ability, travelling high and strong, just like the wind. It was magnificent, dear readers. My body recalls the feeling of it to this day. In my phone notes, it says, “It was nice. Felt nice. Looked nice.” And it’s true! It was exhilarating! The ability to rise and fall and glide as smoothly the air is the best. During this flight, I witnessed some of the most breathtaking sights I ever did see. I saw architecture of all cultures and styles of this and this and oof! It was amazing.

For three days, I was away in the skies. Three whole days was I apart of civilization and instead reuniting with nature. A well needed break, I’d say. When I returned, something in the atmosphere was amiss.

Immediately after landing back at my ancient Italian castle, a lady approached me. Remember how I said my dreams have a history tied to it? This lady also had a history I was conscious about. She was a seamstress who loved doing what she did. In fact, one might even dare to say she was obsessed with sewing. Apparently, she had business with me in my dream.

Me, being who I am, didn’t quite want to converse with her. I don’t know if I didn’t like her or if she was too odd for my tastes, but I tried to shoo her off. I told her of this miraculous dress I had as a child. It was a dress that existed neither in reality nor in the dream. In other words, I was lying in my dream; quite a rare sight indeed. According to my phone notes, it was a well-prepared lie.

My math teacher, the same one mentioned earlier, tagged along with my fib. Together, we requested the seamstress to redesign this childhood dress. I mentioned specific additions like frills and laces, collars and sleeves, and the figure of the dress had to fit well on a child.

Inspired by this new passion of making a dress, the seamstress took out a pencil and began sketching on the exterior grey brick walls of my castle as that was where we were standing.

I remodelled my wings, cutting more off of it that logic would deem necessary. As I was preparing for another flight, my math teacher insisted I give her my box. Do you remember the box, dear readers? I had mentioned earlier of a little brown box. I had forgotten what it held inside, other than immense value. It had no known origin or time of being captured. It was simply a mysterious box that meant a lot to me.

Despite my math teacher’s request, I absolutely refused to hand over my box. I had said to her, “It comforts me.” Eventually, I was allowed to keep the box, so yay~!

I explored for a few days, trying to discover a place with adequate winds. I reached an alleyway with a constant stream of air escaping it. This was the place, I figured. I walked to about the middle of the alley before spreading my paper wings and taking flight. I flew for days upon days.

By the time I returned to that castle, the buildings were in ruins. Well, not the castle where I stayed, but the surrounding buildings seemed to have endured some brutal damage. Walls have crumbled and caved, roofs left completely open, doors detached from their frames, and just an overall cover of street debris. A horrible event must have happened while I was away, but no one seemed to care.

Apparently, through my paper flights, I made a reputation. I was referred to as “The Bird Lady.” Perhaps this was a rendition of something that happened to me as a child, when I was once called “The Caterpillar Girl” for being able to squirm through a certain set of yellow monkey bars at my elementary school.

Re-entering my castle, I was taken aback by the tall walls. Now that I could fly, these walls served a use. I flew around the open vastness of the foyer. Swooping here and there, I ended up standing just outside the ruler’s room. After all, it was a castle so it did have a master. It was located on the second highest floor. Oh, that’s strange.

According to my phone notes, the castle only had two floors, each on being noticeably unnecessarily tall.

The ruler (perhaps of Italy?) was not in the ruler’s room (a room which resembled that of the one in the animated version of Anastasia). Instead, I saw Russian soldiers, of an unknown quantity, scavenging the room. I heard news the ruler was safe, so I left the room.

The room beside the ruler’s room was, conveniently, Manhwa’s (which contradicts earlier when I said Manhwa’s room was on the highest floor. If it was in actuality situated on the same floor of the ruler’s room, it would have to be on the second highest room. What?). I opened the door only to a sliver before witnessing him put on his white flannel shirt. I didn’t open the door any further because I froze at the initial sight of his bare skin on his stomach. Out of sheer embarrassment, I slammed the door shut again.

Shortly afterwards, Manhwa himself opened the door, his shirt fully on. All I could do was stare at him. It had been so long since I last saw him. Do I dare to say I missed him during the time we were apart? He talked to me, but I forgot of what. It seemed I was lost in his voice rather than his words.

According to the phone notes, the memory of the dream ended there.

So, thank you for reading and bearing through this illogical chain of events. I am now eligible to make reference to this dream in future entries, so don’t be surprised if such references are made. Sorry for the late upload, by the ways. Not only was this dream a little expired, it has also been quite some time since my last entry was submitted. These past weeks have been hectic in regards to schoolwork and I’ve been involved in too many things to keep up with my journal. I am trying to stabilize my life again, but so far, no good.

Anyways, on a less serious note, have a go at guessing (and commenting) the title and artist of this song:
You've been having real bad dreams
Oh oh, you use to lie so close to me
Oh oh, there's nothing more than empty sheets
Between our love, our love

I picked this song because it included the word “dreams,” but there’s no other reason. Heh, I just made an inside joke. Oh, but it’s no fun sharing a joke with yourself. Oh wells. I’ll see you around next entry! Oh, and today marks the start of Spring Break! Woo and shtuffers! Have fun, dear readers, and act responsibly. yum_puddi